


5 Things Thorin Is Crazy about Thranduil (Translation)

by GreenJewel



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Admiration, Fluffy, M/M, Naughty Thorin, Sexy things happen, Thorin's description of Thranduil's body, Thranduil's body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3474182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenJewel/pseuds/GreenJewel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin watches Thranduil sleeping and lists 5 things he loves most about the elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Things Thorin Is Crazy about Thranduil (Translation)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [5 things Thorin is crazy about Thranduil](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299675) by [eikyuuyuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eikyuuyuki/pseuds/eikyuuyuki). 



> This work is so beautifully written in Vietnamese by eikyuuyuki. I liked it so much since I'm always a fan of the type 'five-things/ five times" and this subject is about Thranduil's body. So yup, all sexy and fluffy :3 
> 
> Much as I love it, I didn't jump to translate immediately because believe me, it was so beautiful in my mother tongue that I think my amateur translation skills will not do it enough justice. 
> 
> But anyway, it is requested so there you go. Enjoy it! :D I don't think it can stand equal to the original work but I hope you guys like it.

Thorin could sense the curiosity of his young self slowly coming back to him.  The young Thorin used to wonder about the world outside the mountain. He used to dream of adventures crossing even farther beyond the borders of Dale where men lived and  the forests where the elves inhabited. His young self craved to know more about other races, to study their culture and their people. Men, he met them in those short visits when he followed his father to Dale but the young dwarf prince had never once encountered an elf. All he knew of that race was from the stories told by his father and grand father; most of which were mainly insults and mocking. He grew up bearing in mind that the elves were cold, arrogant, just prosaic and distrustful. He would spend much time playing with friends on mocking elves of their appearances: tall, white and life-less as fish drowning on the ground to him. Never did he expect that all such thoughts would vanish without any traces at the moment he first witnessed the beauty of Illuvatar’s most beloved child.

 The Elven-king of Mirkwood in his silver robe walked proudly as if he was carrying along the sweet light of the moon to Erebor. His pace was quick yet graceful and firm approaching Thror’s throne. His crown was a complicated huge and pointy work holding his beautiful golden silky hair in place. The elf’s skin was bright, smooth and flawless like marble stone revealing no signs of age. But from Thranduil’s eyes, Thorin could tell the elf was born much much longer before the existence of his grand father. Those millennia were evident in the clear blue sapphire eyes; yet they didn’t make him look as weary as his age told, but instead more mesmerizing. The Elven-king glared at Thorin shortly and he froze at the eye-contact. Briefly Thranduil smirked as a tease, then a challenge and quickly turned his focus back to Thorin’s grand father. But Thorin was already stoned at his place until Thror called and reminded him to take Thranduil back the guest chamber . When Thorin took his steps to guide the Elven-king, he swore there must have been two holes carved deeply on the ground at the place he stood frozen minutes ago.

 Thorin always likes recalling his past opinions of the elves before he met Thranduil and now he has the noble Elven-king in his bed, wearing nothing but a blanket covering his nakedness. The prince doesn’t know much about elves sleeping, at least may be it is different from the way that dwarves and men do. So he is pretty surprised when Thranduil sleeps so soundly every time like this. But he likes the idea of Thranduil being exhausted from their earlier intimate and passionate acts. He smirks to himself with great satisfaction at the thought.

 To Thorin, Thranduil is nothing like any gemstones he has in his halls. He tries to compare the elf with ruby, sapphire, quartz and even diamonds but Thranduil is far more beautiful than those.

_The hair of golden strands_ _…_

_…carrier of the autumn_ _’s breath_

Thorin moves his hand through the elf’s hair. He giggles as the hair, strand-by-strand runs smoothly like silk through his big callous fingers. Erebor is famous for its rivers of gold. But Thorin realizes there will be no gold rivers that are purer, more beautiful and shinning as the golden waterfall falling over Thranduil’s shoulder. If the gold of Erebor smells cold and heavy metal-like, Thranduil’s hair carries the lovely scents of forests in autumn. Condensed in each strand is the aura of yellow leaves, red cherries and pure water streams. Thorin read somewhere that the elves like best two things: beautiful hair and voice. And now he found the proof to be lying in front of him. Whenever the winds comes and decides to mess with the elf’s hair, the dwarf never understands how they can fall into place so neatly that quickly afterwards. He shakes his head slightly; amused at another wonder about the time it takes Thranduil to tend to his hair ever morning. Unexpectedly an urge rises fiercely in the dwarf, a need to take care of that beautiful gold river by his hands, to gently comb it every morning then braid it tidily with a ribbon of his color – an announcement to everyone that Thrandui is his only.

That feeling of possession takes over him and Thorin instinctively moves closer, puts the elf’s hair to one side and plants a soft kiss on the elf’s scalp.

  _The temptingly perfect curve_ _…_

_…a masterpiece by Illuvatar._

Thranduil’s body is completely different from Thorin. While his body is as rough and hard as a giant rock, the elf’s is slender and flexible as a tree. Thorin likes best to run his fingers on the elf’s long spine, a curve carved by the gods, no doubt. And his neck is long too, not too big nor small but enough for Thorin to grab in his palm. So the dwarf put his hand over Thranduil’s neck, caresses it gently and smirks proudly when he notices the traces he left there. Thranduil always complains because of Thorin, of his loss of control and mad desire that the elf always has to wear high-collar robes and randomly fixes his outfit to cover the marks. The dwarf will smile apologetically but really he doesn’t mean so because he knows how much the elf secretly loves that. It speaks clearly when Thranduil lets out needing moans whenever Thorin kisses the back of his neck. Just like now when Thranduil shifts his body, mumbling inaudible elvish as he turns with his back on the bed, eye-closed. The dwarf then sits up and his eyes run over the elf’s naked body with a burning desire.

 Thranduil is tall and slender but that doesn’t mean he is weak. Instead his body is of a warrior’s figure; his muscles were not big and thick as Thorin’s but stiff and endurable. What surprises Thorin more is that Thranduil bears no scars on his body. Even though the elves’ healing power is better than other races, isn’t it still strange to fight thousand battles through years yet receiving no wounds?

 His eyes travel down to the narrow hips and he felt a twist in his stomach at the sight of his fingers imprinted there. It must have hurt and Thranduil may have trouble walking the next morning. The dwarf feels guilty a little bit but still he can’t wait to see the elf’s face trying to remain unaffected later.

 He runs his hand up and down the elf’s abs and then goes further south beneath the blanket. He observes Thranduil’s face waiting for the elf’s reaction as his hand reaches the part between the other’s legs. The elf’s brows pull together; he bites his lip as if trying to fight back the temptation. Thorin recognizes the signals and there is no way he’s going to let this golden opportunity pass.

  _The sweaty flesh_ _…_

_…with wine- divine scent._

Thorin removes the blanket for better viewing and moves himself lower down the elf’s body. His fingers are on the elf’s feet, running slow feather-like touches for setting arousal. Thranduil’s brows furrow again as he growls quietly and kicks Thorin away but the dwarf quickly takes hold of Thranduil’s foot and pulls hardly startling the Elven-king. He opened his eyes and glares at the dwarf angrily. In reply to him, Thorin only grins mischievously and then lowers his head. Thranduil tenses second by second when the dwarf plants his lips finally on the elf’s inner thighs. He stretches his body instinctively and tries to hold back his shaking breath.

Thorin sucks on the inner thigh softly enjoying the baby-like skin. From the moment Thorin first saw Thranduil’s nudity, he already got curious why the elves, except for their long beautiful hair, is hairless everywhere on their body. He can feel only a very thin and soft layer of hair on the skin; that is another great difference between their two bodies but Thorin doesn’t mind because he loves the elf’s skin endlessly, especially at this part. The elf’s inner thigh was delicate, smooth and aromatic. Its scent is also very tempting from the traces of sweat and their semen making Thorin unable to help himself and bites gently on it; which earns him a sensual gasp from the elf.

 Thranduil immediately rises from the bed to push the dwarf away but his hand is held by Thorin again. The dwarf releases his foot and beams at him. His eyes leave the elf’s face to gaze attentively at the arm in his hand. 

_This slender wrist_ _…_

_…a destiny to be in my palm_

The elf’s arms are at a good length and as flexible as any other parts of his body are. Thorin can see clearly in his mind how this arm gives a graceful yet lethal sword-swing. Elves are probably the only race to set the rule that everything they do must look beautiful and elegant, even when killing their enemies.

 Thorin can still recall clearly the first time he noticed of Thranduil’s wrist, which now he realizes the elf must have done it on purpose.

 Once when the Elven-king visited Erebor, Thranduil invited Thorin into a private chamber to taste the Mirkwood speciality that the elf has specially prepared for him. The Dorwinion wine. Thorin had heard of the elf’s reputation in wine taste and his drinking ability but only then would he admit silently to himself that for once the rumors held true. The first taste on his tongue was spicy and as harsh as a direct hit to Thorin making his head spin lightly; but when the liquid ran down his throat, it left the remarkable sweet and balanced flavor on Thorin. The wine was served to Thorin directly by Thranduil. The elf revealed only a tiny bit of his infamous white smooth skin out of the sleeve. With one quick swift and skillful turn, he poured the wine in Thorin’s globet; and at the same time showing off the small yet strong wrist teasingly at the dwarf’s eye-level. The dwarf fell into that trap immediately, reached out for it and hold it tightly just like what he is doing now.

Thorin kisses and sucks on the skin wrist, feeling the elf’s pulse beating more frantic under the touch of his lips. Thranduil tries to pull it back but Thorin can hold it still. The elf uses his other hand to put the dwarf away more roughly but it is caught also and now Thorin is holding both of Thranduil’s hand and pinning him firmly on the bed. The elf glares at him warning but that icy cold look doesn’t work on Thorin anymore. Thranduil keeps his eyes locked on the dwarf’s trying to guess what he is up to. Thorin doesn’t look away either.

_The eyes as blue as the sky_

_And old as the year they hold._

Thorin’s dark green eyes are hooked to the elf’s clear blue ones as he can read in that blue sky so many different feelings. Loss, grief, and sorrow; happiness and joy; adoration and, fear; despise and hatred; even a bit of shyness and deeply in love. Those pupils of the elves can switch so smoothly from the heartless cold look to the loving one or worried and thoughtful. Thorin likes all the shades the two sapphires speak to him and he often wonders, which of them among those expressions does the elf genuinely have for him?

 “What are you doing?”, the elf interrupted his thoughts.

“Worshiping your beauty”, he replies with a smile.

 The dwarf’s words earns a big laugh from Thranduil, “I didn’t know you fall for me that hard already.”

 “Oh dear the Elven-king. Aren’t we alike? How many times can my lips and my hands can turn on the noble king of Mirkwood?”, Thorin smirks proudly and Thranduil gives him a deadly glare. “If you plan to deny – “, Thorin leans down to whisper to the elf closely “ – it will be my pleasure to make you reenact that lustful moan you have as many times as it needs until you admit this, Thranduil.”

 Thranduil flashed him a seductive smile in reply “Challenge accepted.”


End file.
